Tumbleworks
A ball of clay rolling down a workshop bench. Everything you roll over sticks to you, every gram makes you stronger and clumsier, and the last gate always wants you small.
You dig the dungeon yourself, and every block you take weakens the ceiling above you
You dig the dungeon yourself. There are no corridors in Cairnfall — you cut them with a pick, half a metre of stone at a time, and the rock overhead tracks its own support. Hollow out too much and the ceiling comes down on you: greed is punished by physics, not by a monster.
Flat-coloured voxels under a single lamp, cold fog where the light dies, and one red tint that tells you how long you have.
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